King of the Castle (21 page)

I told Madame Bastide that we must most regretfully be leaving and she signed to Jean Pierre.

“My subjects wish to speak with me?” he said, his warm brown eyes twinkling first at me, then at Genevieve.

“We have to go,” I explained.

“We’ll slip away … quietly. Then they won’t notice that we’ve gone.”

“Impossible! They’ll all be desolate. I don’t know whether I shan’t have to exercise my royal prerogative …”

“We’ll go now. I hate taking Genevieve away. She has had such a wonderful time.”

“I will accompany you to the chateau.”

“Oh, there is no need …”

“No need … when it’s growing dark! I shall insist. You know I can.” His eyes were a little wistful.

“Only for today, it is true, but I must make the most of my hour of power.”

We were all rather silent during the walk back to the chateau, and when we reached the drawbridge Jean Pierre halted and said: “There!

You are safely home. “

He took my hand in one of his and Genevieve’s in the other. He kissed them both; and still held them. Then to my surprise he drew me towards him and kissed my cheek;

and immediately did the same to Genevieve.

We were startled, both of us, but he was smiling.

“The King can do no wrong,” he reminded us.

“Tomorrow I shall be plain Jean Pierre Bastide, but today I am King of my little castle.”

I laughed, and taking Genevieve’s arm said: “Well, thank you, and good day.”

He bowed and we went across the drawbridge into the castle.

Nounou was waiting for us, a little anxious.

“Monsieur Ie Comte came to the schoolroom. He asked where you were, and I had to tell him.”

“Of course,” I said, my heart beginning to beat fast.

“You see you were not here for dejeuner.”

“There is no need to keep anything secret,” I replied.

“He wishes to see you when you return.”

“Both of us?” said Genevieve and I thought how she had changed from the excited girl who had joined the Bastides’ games.

“No, only Mademoiselle Lawson. He will be in the library until six o’clock. You would just catch him, miss.”

“I will go to him at once,” I said; and I went out leaving Nounou and Genevieve together.

He was there reading, and when I entered he languidly, almost reluctantly, laid aside his book.

“You wished to see me?” I asked.

“Please sit down. Mademoiselle Lawson.”

“I must thank you for the miniature. It is quite lovely.”

He bowed his head.

“I thought you would appreciate it. You recognized her, of course.”

“Yes. The likeness is there. I feel you have been too generous.”

“Can one be too generous?”

“It was kind of you to put the gifts in the shoes.”

“You had made my duty plain to me.” He smiled and looked down at his hands.

“You have had a pleasant visit?”

“We have been at the Maison Bastide. I think it excellent for Genevieve to be with young people.” I spoke defiantly.

“I am sure you are right.”

“She enjoyed the games … the Christmas festivities … the simplicity of it all. I hope you do not disapprove.”

He lifted his shoulders and spread his hands in a gesture which might have meant anything.

“Genevieve should join us for dinner tonight,” he said.

“I am sure she will enjoy that.”

“I don’t suppose we can vie with the bonhomie, the camaraderie, you enjoyed earlier in the day, but you too must join us … if you wish, Mademoiselle Lawson.”

“Thank you.”

He inclined his head to indicate that the interview was over; I rose and he followed me to the door, which he held open for me.

“Genevieve was delighted with your gift,” I told him.

“I wish you could have seen her face when she took off the wrapping.”

He smiled and I was very happy. I had expected a reprimand and instead had been given an invitation.

This was a wonderful Christmas.

It was my first opportunity to wear the new dress. As I put it on I felt excited strangely expectant as though the fact that I was wearing a dress he had chosen for me made a different woman of me.

But of course he hadn’t chosen it. He had merely asked the Paris house to send a dress to fit a woman who had worn the black velvet. Yet the colour was the most becoming I could have worn. Was that chance? Or had he suggested it? My eyes looked brilliantly green and my hair was the colour of polished chestnuts. I believed I was almost attractive in that dress.

It was in a mood of exhilaration that I started down the stairs, and as I did so I came face to face with Mademoiselle de la Monelle. She looked enchanting in a gown of lavender chiffon trimmed with green satin bows; her fair hair was worn in curls held high with a clip of pearls and some glistening coils falling over her long slender neck.

She looked at me in some bewilderment as though she were trying to remember where we had met before. I imagined I looked very different in this gown from how I looked in my shabby riding-habit.

“I’m Dallas Lawson,” I said.

“I’m restoring the pictures.”

“You are joining us?” There was a cold surprise in her voice which I found offensive.

“On the Comte’s invitation,” I replied as coolly.

“Is that so?”

“Indeed, yes.”

Her eyes were taking in the details of my dress, assessing its cost;

it seemed to surprise her as much as the Comte’s invitation.

She turned and went on ahead of me. The gesture seemed to imply that even if the Comte was so eccentric as to invite someone who was working for him to mingle with his friends, she did not wish to know me.

The guests were gathered in one of the smaller rooms near the banqueting hall. The Comte had already become deep in conversation with Mademoiselle de la Monelle and was unaware of my entrance, but Philippe made his way towards me. I fancied he knew that I might be feeling a little uneasy and had been waiting for me. Another example of his kindness.

“May I say how elegant you look.”

“Thank you. I wanted to ask you whether the Mademoiselle de la Monelle who is here is a member of the family whose collection of paintings you mentioned.”

“Why … er … yes. Her father is here too. But I hope you won’t mention this to my cousin.”

“Of course not. In any case I think it would be very unlikely that I should leave the chateau to go to her home.”

“You may think that now, but… if at any time …”

“Yes, I will remember it.”

Genevieve came over to us. She was wearing a dress of pink silk and looked rather sullen-scarcely a hint of the girl who had crowned the King for the day a short while ago.

At that moment dinner was announced and we went into the banqueting hall, where the glittering table was lit by candelabra placed at intervals.

I was seated next to an elderly gentleman who was interested in pictures and we talked together. I supposed I had been put there to entertain him. Turkey was served with chestnuts and truffles, but I did not enjoy it as I had that at the Bastides’ perhaps because I was so conscious of Mademoiselle de la Monelle seated next to the Comte, who seemed absorbed in her animated conversation.

How foolish I was to think I was attractive because I was wearing a beautiful dress! How much more foolish to imagine that he who had known many charming women would be aware of me when he was in the company of this one. Then I heard him mention my name 169

“Mademoiselle Lawson has to answer for this.”

I looked up and met his eyes, and I did not know whether he was displeased with me or merely amused.

I fancied he had disapproved of my taking his daughter to eat Christmas dinner with his work-people, that he knew I was aware of this, and that he wanted me to be in doubt of what form his disapproval would take.

Mademoiselle de la Monelle was looking at me too. Her eyes, I thought, are ice-blue, cold and calculating. She was irritated because I, for the second time this evening, had been brought to her notice.

“Yes, Mademoiselle Lawson,” went on the Comte.

“Last night we were looking at the picture and your work on my ancestress was greatly admired. She has lived under a cloud for so many years. Now she has emerged, so have her emeralds. It’s those emeralds …”

“Every so often interest in them is revived,” said Philippe.

“And, Mademoiselle Lawson, you have started the new revival.” He was looking at me in mock exasperation.

“And don’t you wish for one?” I asked.

“Who knows? One of these new outbursts of interest may result in their discovery. Last night when the pictures were examined someone suggested a treasure hunt and the cry went up. So a treasure hunt there has to be. You must join in, of course.”

Mademoiselle de la Monelle laid a hand on his arm.

“I shall be terrified to wander about this place … alone.”

Someone replied that he very much doubted she would be allowed to do that; and there was laughter in which the Comte joined.

Then he was looking at me again, the laughter still in his eyes.

“A

mock treasure hunt. You’ll hear about it later. We’re going to start soon because we don’t know how long it will last. Gautier has been preparing the clues all morning. “

It was an hour or so later when the treasure hunt started.

Clues had been written on pieces of paper and hidden at certain places all over the chateau. Everyone was presented with the first clue from which they had to work out from the cryptic message where to go for the second; if they found the right place they would discover a little pile of papers there from which they would take one on which the next clue would be written; obviously the one who solved the final clue first would be the winner.

There was a great deal of chatter and exclamations of horror while they read their clues. Several of the guests went off in pairs. I could see neither the Comte, Philippe nor Genevieve and I felt as though I was in a household of strangers. No one approached me.

Perhaps they wondered why a woman who was merely in the chateau to work for the Comte should have been asked to join the party. I supposed that had I lived in France I should have gone home for Christmas; did the fact that I was here brand me as someone with nowhere to go?

I saw a young man and woman slip out hand in hand and it occurred to me that the object of a game like this was not so much to solve the clues but to give opportunities for flirtation.

I turned my attention to the clue and read:

“Go to do homage and drink if you are thirsty.”

After a few seconds’ reflection that seemed simple. To do homage was to court and in the courtyard was a well.

I made my way through the loggia to the courtyard and sure enough there on the parapet around the well was a large stone under which the clues had been put. I took one out and hurried back into the castle. I looked at the next clue, which took me to the top of the tower. The castle had been especially lighted for this occasion and on the walls candles glowed in branches of three.

By the time I discovered three of the clues I became excited by the game, and I found myself playing it with a great determination, for there is something fascinating

about a treasure hunt even a game especially when it is played in an ancient chateau. And although this was a game there had been other more serious hunts. How they must have searched for those emeralds!

The sixth clue took me down to the dungeons where I had only once been before, with Genevieve. The stairs were lighted so I did not think I had been mistaken in imagining I should find the clue somewhere down there.

Down the narrow stairs I went, clinging to the rope. I was in the dungeons. No, it couldn’t be there there were no lights. Gautier would not have set a clue in this gruesome place.

I was about to mount the stairs when I heard voices just above.

“But Lothair … my dear.”

I stepped back into the darkness, although there was no need to for they were not coming down the stairs.

I heard the Comte’s voice, warm as I had never heard it before.

“I

shall have to be content to have you here . always. “

“Have you thought what it will be like for me … living under the same roof?”

I should not have stood there, but I could not decide what I should do. To mount the stairs and confront them would embarrass us all.

Perhaps they would go away and never know that I had overheard them.

The woman was Mademoiselle de la Monelle and she was speaking to the Comte as though he were her lover.

“My dear Claude, you will be happier this way.”

“If it could be you .,. instead of Philippe.”

“You wouldn’t be happy. You would never feel safe.”

“Do you imagine I should think you were going to murder me!”

“You don’t understand. The scandal would be revived. You can’t

imagine how unpleasant it would be. It would be a canker to destroy everything. I have vowed never to marry again.”

“So you would have me go through this farce with Philippe.”

“It will be better for you. Now we must go back. But not together.”

“Lothair … just one moment.”

There was a short silence during which I imagined their embrace. Then I heard the footfalls growing fainter and I felt most desolately alone in the darkness.

I remounted the steps, no longer thinking of the clues. I knew that the Comte and Mademoiselle de la Monelle were lovers-or in love -and that he would not marry her. A man who had been suspected of murdering his first wife would be watched with suspicion if he took a second. It would be a delicate situation which only a strong-minded woman who loved him devotedly could handle. I did not think Mademoiselle de la Monelle fitted into that category. Perhaps he knew it too, for he was shrewd and I imagined that his head would always command his heart. So, if my inference was right, he had devised a scheme for marrying her to Philippe and keeping her in the house. It was cynical; but then so was he. It was, I told myself bitterly, typical of the man. Through the ages kings had found complaisant husbands for their mistresses because they could not-or would not -marry them themselves.